


Ellipsis

by clemensconditor



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Aftermath, F/F, Other, Post 2.8, au where villanelle considers someone else, au where villanelle is capable of a good decision, or Not maybe, pining i guess, she’s something, some version of it, villanelle is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:20:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clemensconditor/pseuds/clemensconditor
Summary: trudging through the trauma of letting love go was a cruel way to learn that the light at the end of the tunnel is still loving you.OrMonths after Rome Villanelle doesn’t miss Eve. Not even almost. Definitely not.





	Ellipsis

**Author's Note:**

> This is really short, but it kind of just happened.

Villanelle wastes no time with her routine. Methodically she goes through the steps; shower, teeth, hair, clothes. The same as it always is now. Almost running on muscle memory she turns on the coffee and pulls a pastry from the table. 

Wind rustles the curtains and she’s almost reminded of a cafe in Paris, but even she has to admit her coffee doesn’t make the cut. She lazily peels flaky layers off her food until she reache berries and cheese, quickly dipping her finger in, spending as long as she can dissecting her food until it becomes tedious. She doesn’t think of Eve. 

The sunlight is hitting the pages of her book at the perfect angle to nearly blind her, but her stubborn refusal to move wins. Psychology textbooks pile up on the coffee table beside her in stark contrast to the soft worn cover of the romance novel she’s flipping through. She doesn’t think of Eve.

At noon she does think of Eve, but it’s a petty thought, and Villanelle doesn’t plan to pay it any mind. She proves this to herself by thinking about how much easier her life is without her. How peaceful everything is. How quiet and serene her new life is turning out. She eats another pastry to prove that these thoughts aren’t making her stomach feel full of lead. 

She spends the afternoon training. Punching, ducking, lining up shots. If her scar burns and she reaches a shaking hand to touch it, no one is there to see it. When her knuckles bleed into the floor she finally stops and steadies the punching bag. She licks the blood off her hands and when she’s scrubbing it off the floor she thinks of Eve. She wonders how long it took to get her blood out of the stone. It sparks new anger and she hopes the scar is ugly. “I hope I ruined you,” she laughs and she isn’t ashamed in the quiet of the house. 

When she’s done adjusting layers of makeup and a wig she goes to a bar. It’s not what she’d usually choose, but here there’s not much to choose from. Immediately she spots a woman shifting to get a better look at her. She’s tall and blonde and Villanelle doesn’t think of Eve. She doesn’t think of Eve when she buys the woman a drink, and she doesn’t think of Eve when she has the woman pressed against the building outside. She doesn’t think of Eve.

Satisfied with herself after another day of proving she doesn’t care about Eve anymore she climbs into bed. Pulling out her phone she allows herself to find out how much Eve really misses her. She can’t identify the warm feeling in the center of her chest that spreads as she reads about Eve’s new start. When she sees a grainy picture of her smiling and the warmth spreads deeper she decides it’s just the alcohol. She lets her eyes close, quickly falling into sleep.

“Shit!”

She wakes herself up suddenly, sitting up and slamming her hands down beside her. She had been dreaming of Eve. She had found her and planned to surprise her. But as she walked closer the warm feeling stopped her again. She squinted and saw relief on Eve’s face that she’d never seen before. Peace, maybe. She recognized the warm feeling and screamed until she woke. 

She still loved her. 

Villanelle’s breathing is dangerously close to a panic she tries to stop feeling, but it doesn’t end. She misses her. She doesn’t want to find her. She wants her to be happy. That thought alone makes her envision shredding someone and it’s so pathetic she laughs. 

She writes up letter after letter, drafting apologies and fuck you’s until her ink covered hands cramp. She doesn’t notice the sun filtering through the window until a ray shines through the blinds onto a letter, the shortest one she’d written. 

I miss you. I won’t come back for you.


End file.
